Learning Curve
by hrhrionastar
Summary: Post-Tears, Darken has Nicci exactly where he wants her. Or at least he did, until one afternoon...the first chapter, Blood Rituals, tied for Best Drabble on peoplespalace. Will be a six-part story, full of learning for both Darken and Nicci.
1. Blood Rituals

For the Three By Three Challenge (third sentence, third word, three books) on peoplespalace, a livejournal community for fanfic about Rahl and the Mord'Sith. Tied for best drabble with _Capturing Lord Rahl_ by seredipity513 and _The Haunting_ by madmguillotine.

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The Quotes:

"Rosamund leaned down to sniff it, then dipped her fingers and tasted. "Curious," she said. "Most odd." –page 3, sentence 3, _Stranger at the Wedding_ by Barbara Hambly

"The sharp sounds of cupboards opening and shutting met her." –page 3, sentence 3, _First Truth_ by Dawn Cook

"Still, nobody said anything." –page 3, sentence 3, _Teen Idol_ by Meg Cabot

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**Blood Rituals**

The process of slowly stealing Nicci's Han was going well. Only this morning, Darken had successfully called a thunderstorm much more powerful than he had ever managed in his own body. Mistress Rosamund, who was helping-slash-guarding Shota, the witch who was making the transfer, had said, "My Lord, this storm from such calm air is truly higher magic."

Rosamund would have been sent to the Sisters of the Light if she hadn't been taken by the Mord'Sith, and furthermore she never lied, not even to compliment him. Darken liked this—it reminded him of Cara.

So he was in a good mood when he walked down to the dungeons of the Margrave of Rothenberg (now mercifully deceased; what a bore the man had been), and proceeded to Nicci's cell.

On an ordinary day, Rosamund and Shota would already have been present, setting up the arcane and complex rituals which, while not as efficient as a dacra, were surer, more complete, and hopefully far more painful.

However—

"Where is she?" Darken asked, in a deceptively quiet voice.

Rosamund had apparently been examining the empty shackles, one hand firmly on the sullen Shota's arm.

"Where is she, Mistress Rosamund?" Darken demanded icily.

Still, nobody said anything.

Shota laughed. "Isn't it obvious? You've been outwitted by a silly little suicidal Keeper's pet, _Lord Rahl. _How does it feel?"

Darken rounded on her, but Rosamund got there first; Shota screamed at the touch of Rosamund's agiel, but still her eyes glinted defiance.

Darken was furious.

Once Rosamund had the witch, Shota, firmly under control, she marched her up the stairs after Lord Rahl, who had left, floor-length vest furling, and headed for the stairs to Shota's temporary workroom.

The sharp sounds of cupboards opening and shutting met her at the door, and Rosamund pulled the witch in after her.

The room was a shambles—all the collected strange liquids in jars, the bloody sacrificial knife, the entwined locks of Lord Rahl and Nicci's hair—were gone. Rosamund blinked, then knelt to examine a bowl of red liquid on the floor, in the center of the pentagram.

Rosamund leaned down to sniff it, then dipped her fingers and tasted. "Curious," she said. "Most odd."

It was blood.

Darken scowled down at Rosamund. First Nicci escaped, and now Rosamund was talking in riddles! "Why?" he demanded sharply.

"It's blood, my Lord—Nicci's, if I'm not mistaken. Why would she leave you her blood?" Rosamund sounded genuinely confused.

Darken thought he understood. It was a challenge. Nicci'd taken all his equipment, anything he could have used to make her blood a focusing object or a power transference liquid, and left him this bowl of her own blood as a sort of taunt.

Inwardly, he vowed it wasn't over. He would find Nicci again and take that blood out of her hide.

Looking for someone on whom to vent his spleen, he glanced from Rosamund, now frowning at the broken window, to Shota, inching toward the door.

His fingers closed around Shota's neck (he reminded himself irresistibly of the Mother Confessor) and he smiled evilly. "So your protégé has flown the coop," he said, ignoring the fact that Shota had never set foot in the People's Palace and was very likely younger than Nicci. "If you had half her power, I can only assume you also would be gone. But you'll have to do."

Shota gulped.


	2. Power Games

Originally, Blood Rituals was going to be a oneshot, but I got excited about Darken and Nicci's story, so now it's the first part of a six-chaptered fic; all the chapters will be about this long, and inspired by quotes. So...here's the sequel to Blood Rituals. Darken is having a pity party, when someone decides to crash...

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"Clouds and smoke whirled and eddied, so thick the hurricane-force winds and rain couldn't blow them away." –4,4 _The Book of Fours_ by Nancy Holder

"Her complete lack of scruples had been one of her attractions, initially." –4,4 _The Wives of Bath,_ Wendy Holden

"You promise(d) me a year of freedom." –4,4 _Falling to Ash_, Karen Mahoney

"_A week?_ he thought sourly. _It's going to take twice that long to heal."_ 4,4 _Forgotten Truth_, Dawn Cook

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**Power Games**

Darken Rahl surveyed the wine in his glass with morose, but still exquisite, taste. It was well enough, he supposed. But it lacked…body.

More specifically, he lacked body. His own body, with its inherent Rahl magic, generations of powerful ancestors ending in himself, a man too squeamish to serve the Keeper well, and too self-serving to be welcomed into the Creator's garden…

Oh, no, he was forgetting, wasn't he? The flower of all those long generations was not himself, but his younger brother. He was just a regrettable accident, a stumbling stone on Richard's path to greatness. How humiliating.

"Drinking alone?" she said from the doorway.

Darken whirled—she stood framed on the threshold, long blonde hair hanging loose down her back, her pretty features tense under that artificial smile.

Ah, yes. The other body Darken lacked. Nicci's. Ever since her escape, he'd found himself uncomfortably dwelling on the renegade sorceress. Stealing her Han was no longer enough for him.

"You," Darken labeled her.

Nicci scowled. "Me."

Darken didn't know what was wrong with him. What did he care for some 'silly little suicidal Keeper's pet,' as Shota, now residing in his dungeons, had put it? Although she was more than that now. Another fugitive of the Keeper's wrath. Her complete lack of scruples had been one of her attractions, initially.

It still was. But if she were going to play the game with him, she'd have to wake earlier in the morning than this.

Of course, she _had_ wafted through his security as if they weren't there…for her sake, Darken hoped she hadn't murdered any more of his Mord'Sith. They were rare and precious as gold to him, now.

Without warning, he waved a hand. Outside the dark window, sudden rain and hail hurled themselves at the walls of the castle, driven by fierce winds.

Nicci smiled. And crooked two fingers. Fog poured out of her like blood—like the blood she'd left him. Bitch.

Darken glared, but could no longer quite see her. Clouds and smoke whirled and eddied, so thick the hurricane-force winds and rain couldn't blow them away, although Darken snapped his fingers and the window burst open, bringing the elements inside.

In the raging torrent, Darken neither saw nor heard Nicci approach until she was right beside him. He felt a stinging pain, and looked down to see that she had slashed a deep gash in his arm.

"That's for thinking you could break me," Nicci panted. "Don't look so worried; it'll heal in a week."

_A week?_ he thought sourly. _It's going to take twice that long to heal. Unless she helps it along._

"What do you want, Nicci?" Darken asked, cutting to the chase. The clouds and rain were slowly disbursing now, leaving two wet and bedraggled sorcerers in their wake.

"Promise me a year of freedom," Nicci whispered. She leaned forward so her bosom was directly under his nose.

Darken raised his eyebrows. Obviously, she had some plan whereby in a year she would be unstoppable. He'd have to investigate further. "Why?" he asked. "When you have amply demonstrated that you don't need my permission for your freedom?" There, flatter her—see what that turned up.

Nicci slid down further, until she was sitting on his lap. "You are a powerful opponent." Her lips brushed lightly against his, and Darken smiled inwardly.

Yes, he still had it.

His arms tightened around her. He ignored the pain from the cut. "As are you."

It was true. But it wouldn't stop him. Nicci thought she was in control. How wrong she was.


	3. The Morning After

Chapter Three: Good morning, Nicci...

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Quotes:

"It was all over in a matter of seconds, but those seconds made the difference." –5,5 X-Men 2, novelization by Chris Claremont

"But it wasn't a consolation." –5,5 A Temporary Matter by Jhumpa Lahiri

"No more love." –5,5 Flight by Shirley Ann Grau

"She stopped her headlong rush and stared at the man." –5,5 Cursed by Mel Odom

"Why a mirror?" –5,5 Traveling with the Dead by Barbara Hambly

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**The Morning After**

For one blessed moment after she opened her eyes, all Nicci's ghosts were gone. She breathed deeply, and pulled herself up on her elbows, and then to a sitting position, the red silk sheet falling to her waist and exposing her bare torso.

Nicci ran her hands through her long blonde hair, leaning her head back. Only when she felt the hand grip her wrist did her eyes fly open again, locking at once on his in the mirror in front of the bed.

_Why a mirror?_ Nicci thought, bemused, and then she dragged the power up from within herself and hurled it at him, a mere bundle of energy as raw as her nerve endings.

His hand tightened on her wrist convulsively, and she felt him gathering his own power (_her_ power, she thought possessively—Richard had given it to her of his own free will). It was a frantic flurry, without words or sense to ground the magic. It was all over in a matter of seconds, but those seconds made the difference: Nicci felt the icy bite of the knife into her wrist, and then a numbing chill that stole up through her veins.

She watched him collect her blood in the mirror. Saw his fingers where he had touched her were burned by the raw nimbus of her power. But it wasn't a consolation.

"I hate you," she said weakly. Let him think she was already nearly unconscious. She had made him drop his guard before. Last night…

Looking back, it had probably been a mistake. But she needed something to burn the sour taste of Richard and Kahlan's epic 'true love' from her mouth. And he needn't think he had her beat.

It wasn't that Nicci wasn't going down without a fight. She'd been _there_. No. She just wasn't going down.

"What, no more 'love'?" he teased. He let go of her and Nicci slumped back against the pillows. Her blood was staining his sheets—of course. No wonder D'Hara's official color was red.

"Last night wasn't love," said Nicci. "Love is a myth."

"I quite agree," he purred, now stirring his own blood in with hers. He'd reopened the cut on his arm she'd given him last night. Nicci watched, languidly at first, and then with increasing interest and alarm.

No more time to pretend; Nicci touched the fingers of her uninjured arm to the deep gash in her wrist and whispered the Creator's blessing she'd learnt when she was no more than an innocent Novice. It had never worked in those days, but now, with a whisper of power through her, skin to skin, it closed the wound. She was no longer in danger of bleeding to death.

Nicci didn't waste time on relief. She reached forward just as he began the crescendo that would finish the spell. Their hands touched the bowl of mixed blood at the same moment, and they yanked it toward themselves. Predictably, it shattered and blood splattered everywhere, drenching them both.

At this critical moment, one of the Mord'Sith ran into her lord's room, out of breath. "My Lord, the witch sensed a disturbance—" she stopped her headlong rush and stared at the man. "My Lord?"

Nicci—naked as the erstwhile Lord Rahl beside her, drenched in blood—literal, no longer only figurative, how fitting—sank back on the pillows again and started to laugh.


	4. Sex Magic

Chapter Four: Nicci is incomprehensible, Shota is surely incompetent, and Darken hasn't even had his morning coffee yet.

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Quotes:

"And, of course, it was true that he had taken himself every inch of the way." –2,2 The Devil's Web by Mary Balogh

"I don't know." –2,2 The Silent Tower by Barbara Hambly

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**Sex Magic**

Darken stared at Nicci for one bewildered moment—did it escape her notice that by returning here she had placed herself in his power once again?—and then shook his head and focused on Rosamund.

She was still standing there, looking confused, worried, and (Darken noticed with a certain smug satisfaction) a little aroused. He made no move to cover his nakedness, but said, "Fetch the witch, Mistress Rosamund. And the herb mixture and phial of virgin's tears."

"Yes, my Lord," said Rosamund, still looking a little shaken. She turned and left.

Darken got up, rubbing his face distractedly. Nicci had gotten under his skin for the last time. He was going to finish this now. All her Han would be his. Perhaps he'd even let her live.

A man could get tired of having only Mord'Sith, no matter how attractive, after all.

He gestured prudently at the thought, and ropes sprang into being, wrapping themselves around Nicci's wrists and ankles. She'd be able to escape them in time, of course, but they'd hold her until he found the spare Rada'Han in the back of the closet. Or until Shota finished the rituals to transfer all her Han to him. He already had a significant percentage. But why leave her with anything she could use against him?

Nicci squirmed a bit on the bed, trying to get comfortable. She was no longer laughing, but her eyes glinted in amusement.

Darken felt annoyance (and other emotions) rising in him, and pulled his long vest over his head with a muffled curse. How could Nicci get to him like this?

"My Lord," Rosamund said, dragging Shota into the bedroom by her hair. She balanced the other ingredients under her arm.

"Finish the spell," growled Darken, gesturing to Nicci without looking at her.

Nicci laughed again. "_Her_? She can't even imagine the depths of my power. And you can't keep me here forever."

"I don't need to," growled Darken, hating himself for answering her.

At the touch of Rosamund's agiel, Shota obediently began setting up the ritual. Darken squeezed more blood from the cut on his arm, and used his knife to make a deep and painful gash on the arch of Nicci's foot. She glared at him.

Shota began the transference, mixing the virgin's tears with Nicci's blood; magic loved virgins, it would always bind itself to them above anyone else. But as Shota called forth the Han-filled virgin's tears with the salad of herbs, she gasped suddenly. "This isn't going to work," she said, staring at an image only she could see in one of the virgin's tears.

"Why not?" Darken said sharply, suspecting her of deceit.

"I don't know."

Rosamund made a threatening move with her agiel.

"Well," Shota said quickly, scared into speech. "It might be—" quickly, she wafted the tears into Darken's blood and finished the ritual with a few chosen words. Darken felt no different, and if he narrowed his second sight he could still see Nicci's Han pulsating warmly from her chest.

He swallowed, and turned back to Shota, reflecting that he might well have steered himself into trouble now—and, of course, it was true that he had taken himself every inch of the way. As always, he thought bitterly.

Why wasn't the ritual working? Was it Shota's sabotage? Or—

"Sex magic," Shota breathed, staring into the mixture. Instead of turning clear, as usual, it was a swirling purple.

"Oh, _Underworld_," Nicci said crossly. For once, Darken was in perfect agreement.


	5. Wish Granted

Chapter Four: Careful what you wish for...

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Quotes:

"That made it worse, somehow." –2,2 All Hallows by Rachel Caine

"The hill itself was visible for miles." –2,2 Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett

**Wish Granted**

It was all her fault, Nicci knew. That made it worse, somehow. The whole situation.

"Sex magic," Rahl hissed, staring at the witch, Shota. Nicci scowled at her, wishing she could blame the inferior sorceress. But no. Someone like her, hampered by insufficient Han, insufficient imagination, would never be competition for Nicci.

"My Lord?" the Mord'Sith asked solicitously.

"Our powers are equalized," he explained quickly, pacing now. Nicci noticed that a fold of his floor-length vest was bundled awkwardly upward, exposing a long expanse of leg…her eyes followed it before she could stop herself.

"The spells of transference will never work again," he continued. "Nor would a dacra. The energies must have been unstable, and then last night they'll have settled between us. Equally, most likely." He scowled.

Nicci grinned, just because he was so annoyed—she wasn't exactly happy about it, either; she'd had a plan whereby she'd steal back her Han from him soon—but at least he couldn't take any more. And she likely still had the Han of her dead 'Sisters'—or maybe not. Still—she had her wits.

While Rahl paced, the Mord'Sith trying to help and the witch provoking him—Nicci sensed it would be minutes before he gave in and tortured Shota—Nicci slid quietly out of her bonds. Once free of their magic-dampening effect, she closed her eyes and willed herself to be outside the walls of Rahl's castle.

When she opened her eyes again, she lay on the ground for a long moment before telling herself sternly, "This changes nothing." She got up, frowned, and waved a hand. Leaves spun together off their trees and formed a dress to cover her nakedness.

Nicci started walking.

Hours later, she was still walking. She didn't know precisely where she was going, just that she would know it when she got there. She was never going to be in someone's power again. She had a plan.

When the sun dipped over the horizon, Nicci sank down to the ground, asleep before she was horizontal.

And she dreamed…

Nicci was walking again. But this time she had a clearly defined goal: the pentagram on top of the hill. She couldn't see it, but she could sense it. The hill itself was visible for miles.

As is the nature of dreams, Nicci traveled those miles in one step. Now she stood on top of the hill, in front of the pentagram. On the other side stood a woman. Dark hair, white dress…but not the Mother Confessor. Nicci frowned, feeling the power emanating from the woman.

"Who are you?"

_Don't you know?_ The woman did not speak so much as shout; though Nicci heard nothing, the words seemed to appear on the inside of her skull.

Nicci stared. It couldn't be—but who else could it be? If this was a trick—

"You never answered my prayers," she accused. "What could you have to say to me now?"

_You are on the brink of a great journey. You seek a boon only I can grant._

"No," Nicci shook her head. "There are lots of ways…I heard about this place, when I was in the Palace of the Prophets—the Temple of the Winds…"

_You do not believe you deserve this gift._ The woman smiled at her, and Nicci felt warmth spread throughout her body. _You're right. You don't. But you need it—to protect the child you carry._

"Child?" Nicci repeated numbly. "What?"

_You are henceforth immune to the Rada'Han._

"What child?" Nicci gasped. "You can't do this to me!"

She woke. The Creator's image was burned on her eyelids.


	6. The Way Forward

And finally...

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Quotes:

"He saw an opening." –3,3 A Husband's Wicked Ways by Jane Feather

"I don't need to practice." –3,3 Sword-Sworn by Jennifer Roberson

"The gods are not served by slackness." –3,3 Night's Sorceries by Tanith Lee

**The Way Forward**

"Now!" There was an audible click as the Rada'Han closed around Nicci's neck. It felt cool against her skin.

She didn't move. If the dream had been real—if the Creator had told her the truth—if, if, if. Nicci needed answers, and she would only get one chance to test her new power.

She looked up into the coolly triumphant face of a blonde Mord'Sith she recognized—Brisha. Bending over Nicci, Brisha searched her quickly and efficiently. Nicci could have told her that Darken Rahl still had her blue dress, her spare knife, and several bowls full of her blood. All she wore now was a green dress she'd conjured out of leaves.

"Nothing," said Brisha, getting up and looking eagerly toward another Mord'Sith. Nicci squinted, trying to get a good look in the dawn light. Standing away from the others, hands on her hips, she was clearly the leader. Her lips were thin with impatience.

Brisha said uncertainly, "Did you want to train her for Lord Rahl, Mayline? She keeps escaping, and we get hardly any hostages anymore—be good practice."

Mayline stepped forward, and Nicci waited, every muscle tensed. She didn't dare try to use her magic until precisely the right moment—with Mord'Sith, there was no margin for error. "I don't need to practice," Mayline said contemptuously, turning away. "Tie her up. We're leaving."

The youngest Mord'Sith bent down to bind Nicci (she looked quite astonishingly innocent, but Nicci knew how easy that look was to come by), and an arrow whizzed over her head, striking one of the other Mord'Sith in the neck. She crumpled, and the whine of agiels filled the air as the rest prepared to fight.

Nicci quickly wriggled out of the half-done bonds and raised her head cautiously. A group of men let out attack screams; an older one, standing well back, was yelling, "Go, go! The gods are not served by slackness! For the Blood of the Fold!"

Seeing her captors so preoccupied (and wondering idly what the Blood of the Fold was, whether they served the Keeper, and if this was an assassination attempt upon her for her betrayal of the Keeper), Nicci crawled over to the discarded key to her Rada'Han.

"For the Blood of the Fold!" someone shouted nearly in her ear. Startled, Nicci fell backward to the ground, staring up at a large man brandishing a sword. Obviously, he saw his opening, since the Mord'Sith were all preoccupied and Nicci looked like a helpless victim.

For one frozen moment, Nicci's mind flashed back to the man who had raped her—her heart seemed to stop in fear—

Closing her eyes, she prayed she was a helpless victim no longer. Nicci gestured—and the man's yells stopped. Opening her eyes again, Nicci saw he was suspended in the air above her as though in molasses, his sword's point an inch from her heart.

Shivering, Nicci didn't pause to see what had become of the Mord'Sith. She just concentrated, and moments later she'd disappeared and reappeared again, completely alone, near an entrance to the Old World.

She looked at the key, and thought about leaving on the Rada'Han, as a sort of Statement. But no. She didn't want to lose the element of surprise. She took it off, and wrapped her arms around her stomach.

If the Creator had told the truth about this, then logically she had told the truth about the baby. Nicci's baby. With Darken Rahl.

She wanted to laugh.

Looking into the mists, Nicci knew she'd made her decision.

She was going home.


End file.
